Garden Full of Stars
by thekindlyones
Summary: It all started with a hole – a pothole, to be exact – on the corner of Seventh and Bogs, 'round the bend from Eloi's Toy Palace. Having fallen into it, Rosie now finds herself in a whole new world with her electronics, umbrella and a wildly misplaced sense of reality. Kíli/OC


**Garden Full of Stars**

Prologue: Eloi's Toy Palace

_**Disclaimer: **Don't own nothing you recognise. _

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On the corner of Seventh and Bogs, right down the cobbled street from the biggest Topshop in the district of Ainsgate, there stood a shop almost half the size and twice as dirty as its neighbouring competitors.

While the numerous shop-houses and cafes lining the street glimmered and glistened with their bright lights, pop music and inviting displays, Eloi's Toy Palace remained dingy and downtrodden and irrevocably lost between the two popular boutiques that saw a never-ending stream of patrons entering and leaving with crisp paper bags swinging from their arms.

In the rain-soaked climate of West London, the wooden plaque serving as the shop's signboard swayed wildly from the rusting iron-wrought stand. The metal rings creaked and squeaked from the lack of lubrication and the gold paint that once spelled out the name had all but faded away, leaving nothing but a faint embossment of letterings, now tainted dark by the gloomy weather.

Unlike the rest of its neighbours, business had never been good in the dreary and old-fashioned store. In fact, there hadn't been any customer, be it buying or merely browsing, since the start of its operation.

Which was understandable, for it was always overlooked by people that had passed by the store on their way to a newer, clean and brighter chain.

But that didn't mean the shop's elderly owner was going to close it down.

Oh no. Gwydion A. Macon was nothing if not persistent.

The lack of customers only motivated him, only made him strive that much harder to keep the sad little place going. And it would have impressed the other owners across the street if they didn't think the place was a mark on their lane of sparkling, expensive shops.

Eloi's Toy Palace continued to open, religiously and stubbornly almost, at eleven sharp every morning, Monday through Saturday while the shutters are only pulled down when the clock struck nine in the evening. On Sundays though, the shop remained close, for the wizened old man needed the one day every week to tend to his little workshop in his little cottage home sitting on a little lane on Ender's End, where all the toys in the store were crafted by the man himself.

From the glistening cutlass right down to the woolen golden tassel hanging from the sleeves of a rigid nutcracker soldier, everything was designed, constructed and painted by Gwydion's own marked and calloused hands. The toy-maker had a strong belief in doing things on one's own and could never understand people's fascination with technology.

But his motto was probably one of the reasons why the toy-store two blocks down from his was doing so much better (although Gwydion wasn't going to admit that to anyone anytime soon).

A flash of lightning lit up the front of the store through the dusty window glass and a deep rumble of rolling thunder followed swiftly after. From the dim yellow glow supplied by his aged desk-lamp, Gwydion could see a spot of red lingering around one of his window displays. For a second, he had thought the rotting signboard had finally caught on fire, because with his luck, that _would _have happened to him.

The man was instantly on his feet; ready to pull out the untouched fire extinguisher from behind the counter when the supposed flame traveled down the cobbled steps, right up to his other display window. Puzzled, Gwydion plucked his wire-framed glasses from beside the pile of bolts and wiped it on a corner of his creased shirt before propping it up on the bridge of his nose.

The spot of red, distorted through the wet and dirty glass panes turned out to be a red coat, wrapped around a young woman who was peering at the wooden ballerina statuettes he had put up on display.

He watched with batted breath as she turned to look down the street for a moment, contemplatively, before turning her head towards the cheerless skies. The storm had started to fall harder and fiercer in a matter of seconds, causing the backdrop of the tar road to blur out against the grey sleet of pelting, cold rain.

Gwydion could see the drop in the woman's shoulders, the despondent state in which the worsening downpour had brought along. He was most certain she was going to leave and head for the nearest café when she turned back around and started for the door.

The tinkle of the small iron bell above the entrance was what alerted the toymaker of the first and _quite_ possibly the last customer Eloi's Toy Palace was ever going to get.

'_Finally_,' he muttered, wiping his oil-stained hands with the soiled rag that used to be of a vibrant shade of green velour. His grubby fingers smoothed down the length of his greying goatee, held together at a point by a single golden clasp, before he pulled at his vest and stepped out from behind his work desk.

"Hello," He grinned, curving his hands on his rounded hips. The young woman returned his greeting with a relieved smile of her own as she struggled to bind the umbrella that was dripping spots of dark grey on his floor. "Welcome to Eloi's Toy Palace. How may I help you?"

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_I know, I know. NOT ANOTHER ONE?!_

_I can't believe myself too, but the muse is just too strong on this that my hands simply refuse to continue any other stories until I got GFoS out. I hate myself so much sometimes. I can't focus. Perhaps I should recreate one of those self-locking, focusing box. That should help. _

_GFoS is movie-verse and some parts AU because I disliked the ending of The Hobbit._

_As always, reviews and subscribers are always loved and welcomed ;)_


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